#that’s how it feels like posting old art | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tofixtheshadows · 3 days

Text

You guys really need to stop and consider the ways you're talking about Kabru I am dead fucking serious. Like I know that flattening characters is just what fandom does to a certain extent, but Kabru's actual personality is getting lost to the fandom hivemind insisting that he's aggressive/cruel/sociopathic/hateful, and these are particularly concerning takes to see leveled at the only brown character in the main cast day after day. "My poor sweet golden child Laios needs to be protected from this scary brown man" is not a good look! Like, it's very telling that the bulk of the hate and bad faith readings are reserved for Toshiro and Kabru. Everyone else's flaws get to be discussed and validated and forgiven (or erased), meanwhile people are straight making up things to be mad about with Toshiro and Kabru but patting themselves on the back for being smart.

The worst part is how undeserved it all is. I'm trying to lay off anime-onlys because we're still kind of in the red herring stage of getting to know Kabru, but I would still like to gently suggest that even if you think Kabru is up to something, you don't gave to get in the tags of every fan creator's post and bring up how you hate him or You Can Tell he's totally evil. Sometimes I think Kabru's blue eyes give people license to say things about his appearance that they know would sound completely racist otherwise, but referring to his blue eyes acts as a get-out-of-racism free card. The jokes about the dog with brown contacts are getting old, by the way.

For people who have read the manga, it's disappointing. Kabru is one of the most complex and important characters in the story, and if you base your interpretation of him and all your fandom interactions on shallow first impressions you are completely missing out.

I know part of this is because Dungeon Meshi is a comedy, but the story also wants to be taken seriously. For example, it's admittedly really funny when Chilchuck calls Laios "sick in the head", but that doesn't change the fact that the way Chilchuck casually belittles Laios caused him to hide the fact that he was "hallucinating" from his friends for weeks. Those feelings matter.

Like, this

is funny.

But this?

Is not. This is just a very clear example of a brown boy with PTSD. As someone else with PTSD, just looking at this fucking sucks, man.

The only reason why Kabru thinks about killing Laios is because he is in the middle of a flashback. He's struggling through a panic attack. If he truly wanted to kill Laios because he's violent or because he finds Laios inherently annoying, he wouldn't otherwise talk with Laios normally. Notice how he doesn't act this way at any other point in the story- it's just because he's triggered by monsters. Even when he's thinking about his plans to "deal with" Laios later, he's reluctant to actually kill him and only considers it to prevent another tragedy. Despite his deadly skills, Kabru relies far more on "soft" power- insight, persuasion, diplomacy. He's a rare example of a character who absolutely is, or at least can be, manipulative, but seems to use his abilities for good. He's not a pathological liar, he isn't looking down on everyone behind a smile. He's someone who is extremely emotionally intelligent, and he's willing to put aside all his own basic wants and needs to stop the cycle of dungeons devouring humans.

I'm going to cut a potential thesis on his character short and just give some examples of things that fandom should consider about his personality more:

Racism in fandom isn't just about whitewashing in fan art, or using racial slurs. The insidiousness of bad faith readings, reductions to racist tropes, lack of fan content for characters of color, and dismissal of a character's complexity are far more common. You can believe yourself to be completely neutral or even positive about a character and still churn out low-grade bile about them into fandom's collective unconscious. Fandom reflects real life.

And I have been around fandom long enough to see how these behaviors (mostly from my fellow white fans) affect fans of color, how it makes a fandom feel hostile and unwelcome to them. It's fun to make jokes and memes, I'm absolutely not saying that everything needs to be a deeply nuanced take, but we need to be careful that it doesn't veer into toxicity. Please think about how our contributions to fandom come across, and what sort of vibes they cultivate in this communal space.

#Dungeon Meshi #Kabru #Kabru of Utaya #Dungeon Meshi meta #I'm putting it in the tag. I'm making you look at it.#if you come into my inbox to bitch about this just know that people used to send me b*heading videos in there for similar racist reasons #so I will not be impressed #I'm in a fucking time loop someone get me out!!!!#musings with Dea

944 notes · View notes

confused-pyramid · 19 hours

Text

Breaking Point

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: You and Art were hitting partners (and a bit more) in college, so when you run into him a decade later at the U.S. Open, old sparks reignite...

word count: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), slight marking, drinking

a/n: I watched Challengers last night and then wrote this whole thing in one sitting. Nothing in this is really canon other than Art being a major simp lol so no spoilers for the movie! I usually make playlists (or at least find a few songs that get me in the zone) when writing, so I thought I'd start sharing them here too if people are interested!

You should've known he'd be here. You've been following his career for the last decade since you graduated, and ever since he won Wimbledon last year, he's been tennis royalty, but a small part of you still thought you wouldn't run into him here. At the fucking U.S. Open.

Stanford was a lifetime ago, and you haven't kept in touch with anyone from the college team, but there was always something about Art Donaldson that stuck with you. Ten years later, that hasn't changed.

"It's been so long," he calls out when he spots you from across the practice courts. "I didn't think I'd see you."

You didn't either, and you still haven't decided how you feel about it yet, but when he jogs over to your side, you just shrug. "Guess it's your lucky day."

He smiles, and his teeth glimmer in the bright sunlight. "It certainly is."

The loud thwacks of tennis balls hitting rackets echo around you, but you can't seem to focus on anything but the man standing in front of you. He looks good.

He was beautiful in college too, whether he was training across the net or slipping into your bed, but it feels different now, with so much time apart. He looks like a man now.

"Anyway," Art says, jerking you back to reality. "We should get a drink sometime. To catch up."

He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, but it doesn't escape your notice how his eyes have been trailing up and down your body since he walked over.

A drink could mean almost anything with Art Donaldson, but you're too curious to refuse. "Sure. This weekend, after the semi-finals."

He nods, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you grab your bag from the bench beside you before looping the strap over your shoulder.

You walk off the practice courts after one last glance over your shoulder, and you feel his eyes following along until the doors swing shut behind you.

***

He should've expected this. You were a firecracker in college, and you kept him on his toes every single day you were together, so he really should have known what he was getting into when he met you for drinks that weekend.

Instead, he's one too many beers in, and his buzz is only enhancing the glow of your beauty in the hazy bar light. Your dress isn't even that low cut, but something about the shadows glancing over your strong shoulders reminds him of late nights in the Stanford dorms after a hard practice when there was only one thing he wanted more than sleep.

"You played really well this morning," he says genuinely as he sets his beer back onto the table. "After that first set, Mueller didn't stand a chance."

You flash him a dazzling smile as you shrug, resting your chin on your palm. "I had her after the third game, but thanks. It was a quick match."

Art hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sat down, and while prolonged eye contact usually makes you nervous, you find that you're actually enjoying the attention quite a bit. Attentiveness was never an issue with him, and you would normally give in to your urges, but there's just too much history with him, and you can't afford to lose focus. Not when the title is so close you can taste it.

"I hear the networks are eyeing you for a commentator post," you say, trying to change the subject.

You trace your finger around the rim of your nearly empty margarita, before lifting it to take a final sip, and you don't miss how his throat bobs as you lick the salt off your lips.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "It was just some chatter, but I'm not looking to retire anytime soon."

You frown. "Is that right?" He's playing better than ever, but he definitely hasn't been himself out on the court in years.

He glances down, clearly trying to avoid the scrutiny, and when his eyes land on your empty glass, he changes the subject again. "You want another drink?"

You shake your head, knowing that another will lead to a less than fun morning, but he isn't done yet.

"You sure?" His eyes find yours again, and this time the eye contact feels primal. "It doesn't have to be here."

Your eyebrows lift and you tilt your head with a knowing smile. "Where were you thinking?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, before his lips curve up into a cheeky grin. "My room's nice."

You saw it coming from a mile away, but it still pulls a laugh out of you. "Oh, I'm sure it is, but this isn't college anymore, Art. You should get some sleep...focus on your match in the morning."

You push your glass forward and stand up, nodding at him as you turn to leave, but then you see him stand too out of the corner of your eye.

"I'll walk you to your car."

He looks at you with a hint of amusement in his expression, and you can't help but want to play along, even though Art Donaldson was nothing but trouble for you.

You don't respond, instead just stepping out from around the table and walking out the front doors of the bar. You don't have to turn back to know he's right behind you, and when you reach your car, parked in the center of the nearly empty parking lot, you spin around.

He doesn't stop walking until he has you practically boxed in by your driver's side door, his face less than a foot from yours as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

He had pushed his sleeves back at some point in the night, from the humid summer heat of the bar, and you can see the veins on his forearms now, under the dim light of the street lamps.

"This is me," you say jokingly, tipping your chin at your car as he looks at you with an expression you can't distinguish. "I'm good from here."

He doesn't move.

It's not that you expected him to give up so easily; you had just forgotten how persistent he could be.

Art's mouth stretches into a slanted smile. "Do you remember the Davis Invitational? Junior year."

Speaking of his persistence...he had been pursuing you for months, not in any tangible way, but you always knew what he was thinking.

After the invitational, where you and Art had been the respective men's and women's champions, you had gone back to his dorm to celebrate. Three hours and just as many vodka shooters later, he had finally gotten you in his bed. Not that you were complaining.

Art knew his way around your body, and even that first night, he had managed to get you off more times than you can remember.

"What about it?" you shoot back, your eyebrows raising at the insinuation.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug, but you don't miss the humor glinting in his eyes. "You just used to be a lot more fun to celebrate with."

"Fuck you," you spit out, shoving his shoulder harder than you mean to. He barely budges, instead grabbing your hand and tugging you a few inches closer, and suddenly a wave of lust washes over you, making your breath hitch.

You press your thighs together under your dress, hoping he can't feel the heat spreading across your skin, but then his smile turns to a smirk and you know you're done for.

"What do you think?" he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush over your earlobe. "Want to celebrate?"

Molten lava pools in your gut and you are only peripherally aware of his hand sliding down your hips to the flowy edge of your dress. His fingers glide over your skin as his hand goes under the loose fabric, before rising up to grab your ass, drawing your hips flush with his.

Your arousal is already starting to soak through your panties, but the feeling of his hard bulge pressed up against you sends you flying back to reality.

You lift your hands to his chest and push him back so that he's a few steps away from you. It's not far enough, but at least you can't feel him from there. "I'm not fucking you, Art."

He shrugs, his smirk only slightly shaken. "Who said anything about fucking? I just wanted to talk."

You huff out a laugh. "You're funny. Besides, I'm too tired for this. I need to rest up before my match."

"What about tomorrow night then?" His lip is still curved up in a smirk, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that surprises you.

"What makes you think you'll still be here tomorrow?"

His mouth spreads into a wide smile. "I always win."

You snort. "Fine. Win your match and we can talk."

You don't miss the grin on his face as you climb into your car and leave.

***

You win your next match in straight sets again, so by the time you're out of the locker room, Art's match is still in play. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, you head over to his court and find a seat halfway up the stands.

He has won two of three sets, and he's leading the fourth, so with the prospect of the match ending soon, you use the time to observe him from a different angle.

His form is much better than it was in college, and you've seen him play countless times on TV, but you haven't really let yourself see how good he looks out there. The sinewy muscles rippling in his arms as he lifts them to serve. The rugged sturdiness of his legs as he races back and forth across the court.

You wish you could be down there with him, running your hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, tasting the drops of sweat as they roll down his body-

The crowd erupts in cheers, and you are thrust back into reality as Art throws his arms into the air with a loud whoop. The scoreboard confirms his victory, and you clap along with the audience as he shakes his opponent's hand and heads over to his chair.

People around you stand up to leave, but you stay in your seat, watching as he grabs his bag and stuffs his rackets inside. When he wipes a towel over his face, his head turns up and his eyes immediately go to you, like he knew you were here the whole time.

Your stomach does an involuntary flip and he flashes his eyebrows at you as you bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold back a smile.

When he ducks back down to grab his things, you stand up quickly to avoid letting him see your blush and follow the rest of the crowd off of the stands.

***

You hear it late that night. Three little raps on your hotel room door, just before midnight.

You're in the finals, and you don't have any friends here to celebrate with, so you were sipping a beer and watching old match recordings when you heard the knock.

There's no one else who would come to see you this late, so you're not surprised when you open the door to find Art, dressed in a tee shirt and comfy-looking pajama pants.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

Art just looks at you, his pupils already massive. "You said if I win, we could talk." He shrugs. "I won."

"Okay," you concede, opening the door wider to let him in. "Just talking then."

He nods, before following you inside and shutting the door.

"You want anything to drink?" you ask as he trails behind you.

He shakes his head. "I'm good."

You grab your beer bottle from the side table and sit down on the floor, crossing your legs beneath you.

Art sits across from you, his feet in front of him and his elbows on his knees. You were assigned to a modestly sized room, but for someone as tall as him, the space must feel cramped.

"How did the match feel?" you ask, taking a swig of beer.

He thinks for a moment. "It was close at first, but once I shook my legs out, it became a breeze."

"Your legs were never the problem," you say, leveling him with a serious look. "It was always your attitude. Or your confidence."

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. "I'm plenty confident."

"You are now," you tell him as you swirl the bottle around in your hand. "You won Wimbledon, you have a reason to be confident."

That makes him smile. "So you're saying my legs are fine."

"Yeah," you say before you can process what you're saying. "You looked good out there."

His smile turns to a smirk so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. "You think I look good?"

You let out an exasperated scoff. "At tennis."

His grin doesn't falter so you roll your eyes at him before lifting the bottle to your lips to take another swig. When you tilt the bottle back down to swallow, his hand reaches forward to take it from you. Your grip on the beer doesn't loosen, so the motion sends you pitching forward.

Your mouth parts with a small yelp as his arm wraps around you, tugging you closer, and before you can process what's happening, his lips are on yours.

If you let yourself think too hard, you would realize that there is way too much shared history and way too much baggage here for this to be a good idea...so that's why you don't.

Instead, you let him pull your body flush against his and when his tongue slides over the seam of your lips, you grant him access immediately. Your shirts come off in quick succession and you gasp as his hands run up and down your body, his strong, calloused fingers grasping at every inch of purchase they can find. Yours reach up to tangle in his messy hair, and when his lips move down your neck, your grip tightens, making him moan quietly against your skin.

Something about being on the floor takes you back to your college days, when you'd both be so worked up after practice that you couldn't even make it to the bed, but that feels too real right now.

"Art," you whisper as he runs his lips and teeth over your neck, before replacing it with his tongue to soothe the quickly blossoming marks. "Art, the bed. Now."

It takes him a second to process your words, but when he does, he loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up and onto the bed in one motion, before pushing you back onto the covers.

By the time your head hits the bed, he's already pulling your shorts and panties down, exposing you to the cool air. His lips follow the path of his hands as they trace up your legs, making you squirm under the hot touch of his rough fingers. He presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs before spreading them apart and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you.

"So wet for me," he whispers, almost to himself, before he dives in, his mouth making lewd noises as he licks a thick stripe up your core. "You taste so good."

He lifts your legs over his shoulders to give himself some leverage as he makes a mess between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit into his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.

His grip on your thighs is the only thing keeping you pinned to the bed as you writhe beneath him, trying to not squeeze your legs together from the heat spreading up your core.

His mouth feels amazing and it takes only minutes before you're already nearing the edge. You don't want to come until he is inside of you, though, so you yank his hair, pulling him up and off of you.

He looks up at you through his lashes, and he looks ethereal with his disheveled hair and his chin wet with your slick.

You, on the other hand, look like heaven itself with your eyes half-hooded from pleasure, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face as he licks his lips and climbs over you onto the bed. He lets you taste yourself as he kisses you again, and he lets out a low groan when you bite his lip just hard enough to sting.

"Fuck me," you gasp, your voice too breathy to be actually authoritative. "Fuck me the way I like."

Art grins at your desperate tone and the wild lust in your eyes, committing this image to memory for a later time when you're much further away.

He kicks his pants off as he lifts you both further up the bed, and after covering himself with a condom from his back pocket, he lines himself up and slowly pushes forward.

He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out nearly all the way and then thrusting in again.

The slight pain turns to pleasure almost immediately, but he keeps his pace steady so as not to hurt you. You need more right now, so you wrap your legs around him for leverage and flip him over so that you're straddling him.

He groans as his head hits the pillow, and when he tries to sit up, you press your hands to his chest, pushing him down as you ride him. This position gives you a lot more control, and you use it to your advantage as you bounce yourself on his cock, feeling the way he fills you up so fully from this higher angle.

His fingers dig into your hips as he helps lift you up and down, and his eyes are practically feral as he watches the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.

He's the perfect size to fill you up completely, and with each swivel of your hips, you get closer and closer to your climax, which is approaching so fast you can taste it.

You cry out when he hits exactly the right spot deep inside of you, and his eyes fly to yours as your movements start to stutter from your impending release.

Needing to see the look on your face when you come, he pushes your lower back forward so you fall against his chest, before lifting himself up to meet you halfway. With one arm locked around you, he brings his other hand down between the two of you to rub quick circles over your clit. The new angle lets him thrust up into you, and the increased pace of his movements mixed with the speed of his fingers sends you flying over the edge.

Your mouth falls open with a loud cry, and you squeeze him so tightly he's practically seeing stars. You look so beautiful when you come, like a goddess sent down here just for him, and when your eyes meet his, he finds his own climax.

His body jerks forward with the force of his release, and you let him thrust a few more times as he finally finishes inside of you.

After pulling out, he tugs you down to lay next to him, and at first you let him, but the emotions warring inside of you don't stay quiet for long.

You know that whatever this was isn't going to go anywhere. You didn't work in college, and you won't work now, and you don't want anyone to get hurt again, so you have to make a choice. Now.

"I need to get some rest," you say quietly, a tiny part of you hoping he doesn't hear you. "Before the next match."

"Yeah," he sighs after a beat. "Me too."

You let him hold you for a moment longer, before he unwraps himself from your body and sits up, tugging his shirt and pants back on. You tug the sheet back and wrap it around your torso as he stands up and walks to the door.

You're not sure what you're expecting as he goes to leave, but what you get is a silent nod as the door swings shut behind him.

#art donaldson smut #art donaldson #challengers #challengers smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x fem!reader #challengers fanfiction #art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson x you

309 notes · View notes

sirmanmister · 2 days

Text

💥💥💥 BOOM POW GET KILLED GET KILLED GET KILLED!!!!!

This is a redraw from January 6 2023, in honour of it being 1 YEAR since I posted the last chapter of The Father(s) and Son(s)!!!!! A little bit over a year actually because it was April 10th and it took me a little while to draw this lol

So much has changed in the span of a year omg. And for THE BETTER?? Like I’m going to school, I made and lost friends, I’m slowly but surely getting over some social anxiety (still a wip tho!!! 😭😭) and I’ve found so many cool mutuals and artists and just!!!! AAA!! Not to mention my art skills have improved a whole HELL of a lot!! LMAO

I don’t write as much as I did when I wrote my fic initially, and I feel bad for that sometimes, but it’s just a testament to how things have gotten a lot better for me and it’s not bad that I’m busy. I’m still trying to cobble together some more writing to eventually get another fic out, cuz I do genuinely miss it, but we’ll get there when we get there!

Anyway. TYSM TO EVERYBODY THATS STUCK AROUND FOR SO LONG/CAME HERE FROM MY FIC IN THE FIRST PLACE I LOVE YOU ALL AND YOU MADE MY LIFE BETTER!! 🫶🫶🫶🫶

Pspsps closeups/old pic under the cut!!

137 notes · View notes

sinnerstar · 21 hours

Text

Oh my Satan. I am sorry I am not posting as often as I was. The weather is getting nicer in Shanghai so I am a bit more busier these days. Have been listening to this song a lot lately and it really gave me some inspiration. So I made a cute two pager with the lyrics.

I really love how the colours turned out in the end. Eeeeep.

Also want to make note that I come from the old tumblr days… So I am just noticing how to look at comments now on my posts so I am sorry I never acknowledged them earlier! I had no idea they existed. I will be more engaged with comments going forward! 🩷

If you like my art, please feel free to reblog and follow! Thank you for the support! 😊 (it is currently May 1st my time so I will date it as such)

05.01.24

87 notes · View notes

analoceits · 2 days

Note

I have a feeling Logan isn't good at shapeshifting because he overcomplicates it. Like the atoms and organs and he hates having his body be fantastical

EXACTLYY YOU GET ME. also here is MORE tss body horror hc's that werent in the og post:

logan: if hes in an "unrealistic" body [think: puppet logan] for any long amount of time, he will break down, as he starts asking questions. how is he sentient and aware? how is he breathing? after a while, he'll end up as a gory puddle of pure panicked breakdown and one of the twins will have to fix him. he'll usually end up Checking his own organs after this. just to make sure.

patton: though the inside is.. uh. Pretty Simple. he has one organ: the heart! it is exactly what a 5 year old would think a heart is. it Beats Too :D. also, any "sharp" parts of him (aka teeth and nails) are.. Soft, like Plastic. sometimes they will come loose. their will be No Blood. it makes logan Viscerally Uncomfortable.

roman: though his body is Perfect, as previously mentioned, when hes alone.. hes willing to play with it. make it art. hes cried tears of blood before. sometimes, whenever he feels too fake, he'll take himself apart. just to make sure. just to make sure. (him and logan are alike in too many ways)

virgil: he is a glass canon. his body is fragile, any stray thought he has is susceptible to hurting him (what if im having a heart attack? what if this cut hit a vein?) but. whenever he feels the other sides are in danger? he is horrifically strong. like a parent with a child in danger, he will punch hard enough to break someone but shatter his arm in the process.

janus: though he tries his best to hide it, remus and virgil Know intimately how sick he is. sometimes, he gets poisoned with his own venom and seizes up for hours. in the winter, hes in and out of consciousness, with no rhyme or reason. he gets wild mood swings too, occasionally loosing the ability to feel affection for hours or days, as snakes cant feel that. it terrifies him.

remus: besides logan and janus, his body is painfully realistic. he takes it farther though. his shapeshifting is never.. clean. its all disgusting and gross and like shoving all his organs and bones into a new bag and all the terrible consequences that come with that. as well, he doesnt heal instantly like the other sides. no. he lets it stay as long as it takes.

#sanders sides #tss #sasi #ts sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders

55 notes · View notes

sirfrogsworth · 19 hours

Text

Peter McKinnon did a video with a photographer named Garrett King. And he just went on a very long rant about lazy photographers who use Photoshop and "fixing it in post."

He continues... "You can't do that in film. You can't just make a bad decision and say "Oh, I'll fix it in post." (Not true. There was plenty of editing in dark rooms in the past. And now you can scan a film photo and literally manipulate it like a digital photo.) Fix it in post drives me nuts. That statement is so played out. It drives me nuts that people say that. Cuz dude, I don't work that way."

He also says that choosing film is the "hard path" and keeps talking about how lazy photographers who photoshop are.

I love film photography. I have an old Minolta that my mom gave me that I hope to restore and use someday.

But film photographers drive *me* nuts sometimes.

IT'S NOT A COMPETITION!

BOTH THINGS ARE COOL!

This idea that their way of making art is more valid or authentic than my way of making art is just a continuation of an old school mentality that really needs to die. There are still some photographers who will bully people because they use autofocus or aperture priority mode.

I actually think learning to be really good at Photoshop is much more challenging than learning to be good at photography. Sure, there are fields like photographic microscopy and product photography that require years to master, but I've been learning Photoshop for 20 years and I feel like I have barely scratched the surface of what is possible.

I have seen people with near 0 experience take an amazing picture.

I have seen people who barely know how their camera works take consistently good photos. It's the "using only power chords" version of photography.

But I have never seen someone with 0 experience photoshop something artistically impressive.

When people say "that looks Photoshopped" as if that is an insult, it really breaks my heart. Photoshop was a huge reason for my success. My ability to lay in bed and make funny things was essential to building my blog.

My post on Karl Taylor's Clinque photoshoot had so many comments saying his work "looked photoshopped" and it was a little frustrating.

Firstly because he actually sculpts with light and isn't actually very good at Photoshop. When he takes a picture, it pretty much looks like that from the start. The rest is just minor compositing work and blemish removal.

And secondly, because that kind of product photography predates Photoshop. Karl was doing this when Photoshop was just a baby.

In fact, still life photography was inspired by Dutch paintings of fruit and shit.

They were all, "I cannot stand sitting with another yappy model for days on end. I'm sick of people. I'm just going to paint *stuff* but with really amazing lighting."

But it is also frustrating because there is this mentality that digital tools are lesser. As if digital artists just press a few buttons and cheat-code their way into good images.

It's the same mentality people have about CGI. CG artists are the modern day sculpturists. They do the same thing as Michaelangelo or Rodin, just with different tools and in a different medium. Oh, but they also animate their sculptures in thousands of frames in multiple dynamic lighting environments all while maintaining photorealism.

To me, Thanos is just as artistically impressive as the statue of David or The Thinker.

Blair Bunting is a very talented photographer who mixes incredible photographic technique and lighting with his amazing photo manipulation skills.

And while these photos may not be as "authentic" as that film photographer's picture of a dude sitting on a truck...

I can assure you no laziness was involved in Blair's process.

Also, I really didn't want to bring up disability. But it is really difficult for me to do the physical process of photography. Sometimes I do not have the energy to get the perfect "in camera" exposure. Sometimes I won't even check my settings and I will snap a picture knowing that I can make it cool with editing. I just look at the histogram, make sure the data I need is there, and do the rest on my computer.

During my adventure to photograph a bridge in Alton, I was only able to take 6 photos. Usually I will take hundreds in a session. My fatigue got the better of me and I nearly had to go to the hospital after walking up a hill. (I was having a bad day. I'm better now.) I didn't get the photos I wanted to get. And on the way down that hill, as I was out of breath, I pulled out my phone and tried to snap a pic of something cool I saw in front of me. The phone had been set 2 stops underexposed from a previous shot and so the picture was pretty much all in shadow. And because I was walking super slow, I had just missed the sun over the horizon.

But it's a RAW file. And I knew I could probably do something with it. I could "fix it in post." Not because I was being lazy. Mostly because I was trying not to hyperventilate. Apparently, my body can't handle slight inclines any longer.

And this is what I came up with.

I'm not saying this is an amazing photo. And it would have been really cool if I hadn't missed the sun. But this is what my eyes saw as I came down the hill and I was able to recreate that with digital tools.

I think that is pretty cool.

30 notes · View notes

atelierlili · 7 hours

Note

What's your headcanon for Katniss and Peeta's children?

How old was Katniss when give birth to their daughter?

How many years apart between them in age?

Your headcanon for their name?

Who gets the singing and art skill from their parent?

Bonus question : please give recs of your fav everlark post-Mockingjay fanfic.

Thank you :)

@curiousthg

You’ve made a grave mistake because I have so much to say and some art as well(becuase I’m so sane for them I swear)

So I’ve always headcannon that Katniss had her first baby in her late twenties-early thirties. In my head the 5, 10, 15 years go like this. Year 5: Katniss is open to the idea of children now. The games are done, but is Panem really safe yet? Is she ready yet. No, not really. Year 10: okay, Katniss feels safer and braver now. If it happens it happens. They won’t actively try for it and will let nature take its course. Year 15: Toast boy and girl are born within a 5-ish year time span.

Katniss names the girl Marigold for the golden flowers that Peeta planted next Katniss’ Primroses. Marigolds represent warmth, creativity, joy and good luck, but they were also given away during times of grief as a gesture of kindness and solidarity as the flower’s vibrant colours helped ease the pain of grief. Gold is also the colour that represents the bond between the district 12 team that comprised of Peeta, Katniss, Effie, Haymitch, Portia & Cinna. So it’s also carries some sentimental weight as without them and their bonds, this little girl wouldn’t have been born. Of course, Peeta calls the girl Muffin. Because she’s his little muffin. His little cupcake. It’s not until Effie decides that Mary is too bland a nickname for her favorite niece that we get the girl’s most used nickname- Muffy.

Muffy is a bundle of joy to their lives. And Katniss loves being a mother more than she’d thought. Having Muffy made Katniss yearn for the mini Peeta she dreamt of on a beach in the QQ.

Toastboy pops out about three and a half years later. The age gap is so close to be about the same as Katniss and Prim’s that it makes her heart squeeze again. His name is Cress, after Watercress (wait plz don’t leave), the aquatic plant that can be found in bunches at Katniss’ special lake. They are a highly nutritious plant to eat and is said to believe to have medicinal uses like treating swelling and fevers. The name is also a small nod to Annie Cresta and Finnick because of the water connection. His curly blonde hair gets him the nickname Goldilocks from Johanna.

Both children are highly artistic and connected to nature, Katniss teaches them both to hunt, but the kiddos don’t like it as much because they don’t like to hurt animals. It hurts Katniss a little bit, but she’s glad that bloodshed and violence (even to survive) aren’t a daily part of their lives.

Muffy is a performer. She’s definitely daddy’s little girl because she loves to yap. She could yap all day and still find something to talk about. She grows up loving to dance and then wanting to sing and dance- the dreams of making it big in the Capitol as a actress. (To Katniss’ complete and under horror) She’ll definitely develope some complex when it comes to being the Mockingjay’s daughter. Especially when she starts getting movie offers to play her Mom, even when after she tries going out of her way to distance herself from Katniss by going under a different stage name.

Cress is very much not Muffy. He’s a quiet little guy who follows after his big sister like a little duckling. He’s the only one who doesn’t get tired of her yapping and genuinely listens to her. Peeta and Katniss were a little worried when they started noticing that he wasn’t speaking for a while. They go to doctors and they can never find what’s causing this speech delay, but one day he starts talking at the age of 2, and he has the softest most sweetest voice in the world. He’s a very quiet and observant kid, that gets into more trouble than you’d think. While Peeta’s art is very imagery and emotionally (and politically) focused, Cress’s art is not. He’s super talented with a pencil and really skilled at realistic/technical drawings that he’d probably go an illustrate diagrams for scientific textbooks on nature and stuff. Growing up, he probably feels like his art work is too cold and unfeeling compared to Peeta’s splash of life. But in reality, the difference between they art styles are indicative of how they see and filter the world through their art.

Anyway, this is taking waaay to long so here is some early concept art of the toast babies. I’m still messing around with the tones and hues of their design, so none of this is final. I’m probs gonna switch Cress’s skin tone to a more golden undertone as opposed to Katniss’s reddish one to match his hair color, which might get a tad darker (or lighter tbh. In the books Peeta’s an ashy blonde) Meanwhile maybe I’ll give Muffy the redder undertone? There’s something off bout her that I need to keep experimenting with. She screams Movie Katniss baby, not Book Katniss Baby, but maybe that’s only because Jen has blue eyes.

#everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #thg #everlark fanart #the hunger games #atelierlili #my art #answered asks #toastbabies #Marigold Everdeen-Mellark #Cress Everdeen-Mellark #I’m so normal about them #my OCs

20 notes · View notes

feroluce · 22 hours

Text

Connecting dots tonight (didn't connect shit, I've connected them, etc) because of this post about item descriptions to do with Sampo I saw a few days ago and! I feel like there are so many interesting things that could be implied from this!! Because the recipe for the High-Tech Protective Gear is given to you by Bronya (before the IPC invaded Belobog!), who says this little interesting tidbit about it:

This is an item from before the Eternal Freeze, 700 years ago. Even to the rest of the universe, it would be SORELY outdated. It cannot be made in Belobog anymore due to the loss of entire eras. It is effectively useless; this recipe had to be somewhere gathering dust, kept around solely for archival purposes. There is no reason for Sampo to know about this item or have any idea how it works and yet. AND YET. He's just running around selling knock offs!!

He shouldn't even know how to make these, but the fact that he does means Sampo either

had the blueprints from off-world before he came to Belobog (most likely but also most boring answer)

broke into Qlipoth Fort and copied down the blueprints (completely plausible - he's possibly shown doing exactly that in his splash art)

found another copy out in the ruins of the old world (also completely plausible - Sampo is astoundingly resilient against both the Fragmentum and the cold, as noted by Lynx haha)

Meanwhile, the Inferior Protective Gear recipe comes from an NPC in the underground, and when she gives it to you, she talks about building robots and the robot fighting scene sorry about the quality I didn't have screenshots for her dialogue so I had to use wiki

Which makes me feel like it's safe to say that the inferior gear is mostly being used in the underground, especially by the vagrants and their robots for fights, because...well, who else would use it? Cocolia has made it illegal to explore too far into the Snow Plains, and besides, it's way too dangerous for most civilians even WITH gear. The Silvermane Guards are funded by official sources, they have no reason to rely on Sampo for armor. So it makes sense for an underground mechanic to know the recipe; there's probably not as much market for it up in the overworld.

And if you look at the descriptions, you can see why this probably wasn't something that could be made in Belobog anymore; it requires a charging system of some sort.

We know it's not a problem with the basic materials because all three ingredients can be found right in the administrative district. But the underground only has two of them; somehow, despite being in the planet's crust, and literally crawling with robots...there is no metal down there. It isn't found anywhere, sold by anyone, or dropped by anything. And metal just so happens to be the one ingredient Sampo replaces in his knock off version.

The Inferior Gear uses trash instead, something which, going by the words of that same mechanic, is MORE than abundant in the underground- any good quality parts are extremely difficult to come by down there.

Anyway, all his shadiness aside, I love the implication that Sampo is smart enough to be able to take this item that no one else on the planet probably knows anything about, and was able to figure out what he could replace, and how, and with what, in order to make it easily accessible to the people of the underground, even without access to overworld resources. Because his version DOES work! It literally gives you the exact same amount of defense boost as the IPC one!